


the face of the future

by flowermasters



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - The 100 (TV) Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Xenophobia, Cultural Differences, M/M, Political Alliances, Sexual Content, found this in my WIPs and frankly am posting it on a whim, honestly? might be crack, lowkey virgin kylo ren, wow nobody asked for this yet here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 11:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11462742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowermasters/pseuds/flowermasters
Summary: A hundred years after a nuclear apocalypse, Hux's space station comes crashing down.The 100fusion that nobody asked for.





	the face of the future

**Author's Note:**

> ... I can explain.
> 
> Well, I can't explain myself, but basically all you need to know is that a nuclear apocalypse wiped out life on Earth only (surprise) not really. Hux's people survived on a space station, Kylo's people made it on the ground, and there are some not-very-nice folks living in an underground bunker nearby. The Force still exists because why not.
> 
> Warnings for: sexual content, some violence, canon-typical xenophobia (it's Hux, y'all).

As it turns out, grounders are nearly as paranoid as they are savage, and do not take kindly to a group of strangers wandering – however loudly and slowly – into their midst.

Hux already feels ridiculous, his hands lifted and splayed on either side of his head in a hopefully universal display of innocence as he walks closer to the huge wooden gate of the grounder village. Of course, he has a gun tucked into the waistband of his trousers and a knife in each boot, but it’s the thought that counts. He might play at diplomacy, but he isn’t about to wander deep into the woods and _let_ himself be murdered.

“We mean no harm,” Hux calls. If Mitaka’s resultant wince is anything to go by, Hux doesn’t sound nearly as friendly as he means to. That isn’t much of a surprise; he didn’t survive falling out of fucking orbit and landing in this godforsaken place on his charm.

Well, certainly not on charm _alone_.

“Hello?” Hux calls, when nothing greets him but the twittering of some nearby birds, an annoying sound that he has yet to grow accustomed to. The walls surrounding the village are intimidatingly tall, but surely they are not unmanned. Someone must’ve noticed their approach. “I’m told you lot speak Basic. I’ve come to –,”

An arrow lands neatly between his feet. Thanisson swears behind him, and out of the corner of his eye, Hux sees Mitaka go very pale.

“—speak with your leader,” Hux finishes dryly, lowering his hands.

“Sir?” Mitaka says nervously, shifting his weight back and forth as though ready to bolt. “Shouldn’t we retreat?”

“Not yet,” Hux says, standing very still. Then, louder, “I have come to speak to your leader. I want to help you.”

This is, of course, not true; Hux could care less about helping the grounders, and in fact would have no qualms about getting rid of the lot of them, as they’ve proven themselves to be an utter nuisance in the course of the month that Hux has lived on this planet. Any infringement of the grounders’ woodland territory – where they’ve apparently lived for a hundred years now, since a global nuclear event should have wiped out life completely – has been met with violence. This wouldn’t be such an issue if clearly defined boundaries existed, but they don’t. But helping them is the more useful path, for the time being. Hux is certainly willing to ignore a few woodland skirmishes in favor of getting what he needs.

Whoever watches at the top of the wall continues their stony silence. Hux is fairly certain that the next arrow won’t land in the dirt.

“My name is Hux,” he shouts, doing his level best to keep the frustration out of his tone. He can only hope that his name precedes him, although he’s had no personal dealings with any of them thus far. “I can help you kill the Mountain Men.”

The silence stretches on eerily. Hux would’ve thought that offering to help defeat their mortal enemy would’ve stirred some interest, but he appears to have thought wrong. Finally, he turns to Mitaka and Thanisson, ready to retreat, before an accented voice calls, “Wait, sky people.”

Hux turns again, then watches as – slowly but surely – the enormous gate begins to open, creaking and groaning with the strain of it. It’s a momentary triumph; what waits on the other side of the gate is, admittedly, a mystery. Hux counts himself lucky to have never been close to  _one_ grounder, let alone a massive group of them.

He’d feel a great deal safer if he had a larger entourage, but Thanisson and Mitaka will have to do. It simply didn’t seem prudent to show up at the enemy’s front door with a small militia in tow, and it wouldn’t do to leave their own camp entirely unguarded. Still, even in their days as technicians in the _Finalizer_ ’s engineering department, the two of them had been spineless. Hux will be lucky if they don’t get him killed before negotiations can begin.

The gate opens just wide enough to permit a strange group of warriors to pass through: all masked, armed to the teeth, and walking perfectly abreast. The display falls more on the side of ridiculous than it does impressive, but Hux is not without apprehension. Beside him, Mitaka seems to be having a mild fit in his terror. Hux resists the urge to look over his shoulder to make sure Thanisson is even still there.

“Hello,” Hux hazards. “Which one of you is in charge?”

“Kylo Ren,” replies one of the warriors, breaking from the line to approach Hux. She is squeaky-voiced and a good deal shorter than he is, but the black mask keeps him from feeling too comfortable.

“Ah,” Hux says, and thinks, _what a ridiculous name_. “I presume that’s you.”

The warrior says something in her native tongue, sounding rather offended, and before Hux can say anything else, a gloved hand swings towards his head. He instinctively moves to shield his face, but that doesn’t seem to be the grounder’s target. Something hot and sharp pricks his neck, then immediately withdraws.

“Fucking hell,” Hux says, pressing a hand to his neck and stumbling backwards. Something warm and fluid seems to be spreading outward under his skin from the point of contact, but he can’t tell if it’s real or imagined.

“Sir?” Thanisson says, grabbing Hux from behind by the upper arms, and Hux watches with a slightly alarming but steadily growing sense of detachment as Mitaka draws his gun and aims it at the grounder.

The warrior moves so swiftly that her limbs seem to blur, although that might be because everything suddenly seems a bit fuzzy around the edges. She knocks Mitaka’s gun away like a child batting aside a toy, and then suddenly the other warriors are moving, a swarm of black robes and devilish masks. Hux feels Thanisson’s grip on his arms give way, and then he feels the utter solidity of the earth at his back.

So different from the _Finalizer_ , Hux notes, somewhat nonsensically, as he stares at the greenish-brown blur of tree branches overhead. Home always rumbled ever so slightly, thanks to the omnipresent hum of machinery and movement that kept them all alive while drifting in the endless vacuum of space. There is no such rumble on the ground, yet death still surrounds them all.

A black-clad figure leans over him suddenly, but Hux can’t make out a face. He blinks once, and just like that all is darkness.

Hux wakes much too abruptly, and for one terrifying moment, it feels like his mind has outrun his body. He can’t move, not even an inch in any direction, and panic rises like bile, choking him –

Almost as quickly as it had arrived, the sensation dissipates, but Hux regains only partial control of his body. He is being held upright by two grounders, head and shoulders drooping forward while they grip his upper arms, his bent knees resting on the floor. When he jerks instinctively, they tighten their grips to the point of pain, and he stills.

Hux takes a moment to process the situation. His surroundings are surprisingly nondescript; there’s several chairs arranged at a long table on the other side of the room, but Hux is fairly certain that’s not the intended focus of this gathering he’s found himself in. He is being held before a single grounder – a tall, imposing figure, attired and masked much like the other warriors. Light from a nearby fireplace casts odd, flickering shadows onto the figure, who remains motionless and silent, though he must be aware of Hux’s scrutiny.

Mitaka and Thanisson are visible to Hux’s left, each guarded by two more of the masked grounders. Both of them look scared witless, and with good reason. Judging by how light Hux’s belt now feels, the grounders have located his gun and confiscated it; he assumes the same of the knives in his boots, although they probably wouldn’t have helped him for very long against a pack of warriors anyway. He’s going to have to talk his way out of this. Ordinarily that wouldn’t pose much of a problem, as Hux considers himself to be very good at talking, but thus far grounders have not turned out to be very good listeners.

“You can let me go,” Hux says finally, when nobody else seems inclined to break the silence. “I have no intention of dying today.”

A long moment passes, and then abruptly – as if triggered by some invisible signal – the warriors let go of him. They do not, however, leave his side. “Remain kneeling,” the one on Hux’s right orders in a deep, gravelly voice.

Hux rolls his shoulders once, trying to casually work some feeling back into his arms. “So you’re Kylo Ren, then?” he says, addressing the grounder in front of him.

Something about this, either the inquiry itself or Hux’s mildly disdainful tone, rubs one of his captors the wrong way. The man to Hux’s right unsheathes a machete from his belt so suddenly that Hux doesn’t even have time to move, only to tense instinctively, bracing for the death blow.

“You will show respect,” snarls the grounder, pressing his blade to the line of Hux’s throat. “You kneel before Lord Kylo Ren, master of the Knights of Ren, the grandson of Darth Vader.”

Hux blinks up at the masked, motionless creature before him. He is suddenly enraged by all of this ridiculousness, this asinine, ritualistic waste of time and energy. Well, perhaps not _suddenly_ – he’s been angry ever since he woke up – but it’s abruptly unbearable. “I beg your pardon,” he says icily, “but who the fuck is Darth Vader?”

The blade presses close enough to nick his throat, and Hux withholds a grimace. Seemingly helpless to do anything else, Mitaka and Thanisson watch in ill-concealed horror. Only then, with Hux’s throat mere millimeters from being slit open, does the leader speak.

“Stop,” Kylo Ren says, in a deep, oddly soft voice. “Sheathe your weapon and step away from him.”

The speed with which the knights follow their leader’s command is, frankly, awe-inspiring. Hux would be delighted to get that sort of obedience from his lot, though he does not voice this opinion. “May I rise, Lord Ren?” he asks curtly. He’s grateful for their distance, but remains unconvinced that one of these so-called Knights of Ren won’t gut him at the first sudden movement.

“You may, Hux,” Ren replies, sounding vaguely amused. Hux loathes him already.

Upon getting to his feet, Hux says, “I have no interest in wasting any more time, Lord Ren. You seem to have gone to an awful lot of trouble to render the three of us helpless, and frankly, you’ve succeeded. But aren’t you the _least_ bit interested in hearing what I have to say?”

“I am,” Ren concedes, which throws Hux ever so slightly. He hadn’t expected any agreement at all after this shitshow of a kidnapping. “You may begin.”

Hux thoroughly resents being given permission to speak, as though he’s actually a subject of this fool, but he heeds it anyway. “Your people are regularly kidnapped and slaughtered by the residents of the Mountain, as I’m sure you know,” Hux says. “But you don’t know why.”

He pauses mostly for effect, then continues, “It’s for their blood.”

“Their blood,” Ren repeats, completely devoid of inflection. Hux takes that as a cue to keep things moving.

“Regular transfusions of grounder blood allow the Mountain Men to survive comfortably in their bunkers, as the living facilities within the Mountain have gradually become irradiated over time,” Hux explains. He wishes he could see Ren’s face, so he could tell whether any of this is actually making an impact. He can only hope that Ren understands any of this terminology. “They can’t leave the Mountain without suits to protect them from the radiation in the air left over from the nuclear war. They haven’t adapted to it the way you have, by living in it for generations – or the way we have, by virtue of the more intense solar radiation in space.”

Ren cocks his head at that, as though curious. “How do you know all of this?” he asks.

Hux hadn’t intended upon getting to this point quite so fast, but this whole reveal has already been shot to hell, anyhow. “I have a spy,” Hux says. “Posing as a grounder, she allowed herself to be taken captive and then escaped before they could drain her blood. I’ve kept in contact with her through radio – she stole one of their guard uniforms, you see. Thus far she’s managed to avoid being caught, but she doesn’t have much time. A couple more days, if she’s lucky, which is why it is imperative that we work together.”

Again, it is incredibly frustrating not to be able to gauge Ren’s reaction; Hux hopes he’s impressed, even though keeping Phasma alive is of course entirely out of Hux’s hands now. It was Hux’s idea to breach the Mountain, but Phasma had promptly declared herself the only one for the job. She had ample combat training and intelligence, and did not consider death an option. Hux agreed, though privately he’d had little hope of hearing from her again. Now he actually regrets having so little faith in her.

“How so?” Ren prompts, pulling Hux from his thoughts.

“I don’t have the manpower to overtake the Mountain,” Hux says. “You do.”

Ren says nothing, but he has somehow gone even more still than before, as though holding his breath in anticipation.

“At my signal Phasma will take out their defenses from inside, by any means necessary,” Hux says. “At which point we’ll blow the front door and walk right in. If the radiation doesn’t kill them first, we will.”

“We?” Ren repeats, with that infuriatingly amused tone again. Hux allows himself but an instant to seethe.

“Not we as in you and I, no,” Hux says. “But I have some soldiers of my own.”

“Of course,” Ren says. “I suppose battle would be beneath you.”

Hux wills himself not to flush in anger, although with his complexion, that’s easier said than done. He immediately opens his mouth to counter, but Ren doesn’t allow him the opportunity. Instead, he says something in that odd language of theirs, something which causes the knights to spring into action. Mitaka and Thanisson are abruptly yanked to their feet, and then herded towards a door across the room. The knights tasked with guarding Hux follow, although Hux notes a hint of reluctance in their slower pace.

“Sir,” Mitaka cries in alarm, as though Hux could possibly come to his aid without being swiftly cut down.

“Where are they being taken?” Hux asks, more annoyed than anything. If Ren is going to have them killed, he could at least say _why_.

“Away,” Ren answers, “so that we may finish our negotiations in private.”

 _Negotiations,_ _my arse_ , Hux wants to say, and Ren cocks his helmeted head slightly as if confused. Then again, Hux might be projecting, as he still can’t see Ren’s bloody _face_.

“Well, by all means, let’s finish them,” Hux says. He feels a bit ridiculous now, standing directly in front of Ren with nothing stopping him from moving either toward or away – nothing except, of course, his own desire to stay alive. Hux is quite sure that Ren is just as well-armed as his subordinates. “What about my plan was unclear, Lord Ren?”

Ren doesn’t answer him. “Are you familiar with the Force, General? Did they speak of it at all, in the sky?”

“I – the Force?” Hux says, blinking at Ren. “I’ve heard of it, yes. When I was a boy and we learned about various dead religions.” Religion didn’t play much of a role in life on the _Finalizer_ ; it was difficult to cling to faith when their home planet’s utter desolation flew in the face of nearly everything an ancient text could possibly say. Hux was top of his class, but the details are fuzzy now, dulled by lack of interest and the passage of time.

“The Force itself is not a religion,” Ren says, tilting his head again. Somehow the gesture makes Hux think he’s confused, or perhaps thinking very hard about something.

“I _know_ that,” Hux says, irritated. “But there were the Jedi, and the Sith, and all manner of other cults. What does this have to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with everything,” Ren says, somehow both pompous and cryptic at the same time, and Hux only narrowly resists the urge to scoff.

“Lord Ren,” Hux begins, “as I said before, time is of the essence –,”

Ren moves forward so abruptly that Hux chokes on his words in surprise. He quells the urge to step back, however; he won’t run from the inevitable. He doesn’t know where the hell he is and he has no weapons – he can’t hope to escape if Ren decides to kill him, or worse. “What are you doing?” Hux asks, as stiffly as he can manage.

“I understand your plan,” Ren says, voice low and soft, albeit muffled by that ridiculous mask. “But I would like to understand _you_ , before we proceed.”

“What are you on about?” Hux snaps, impatience and discomfort finally winning out over self-preservation. Ren lifts a gloved hand and holds it in front of Hux’s face, so that Hux can just barely see his masked face through the gaps between his fingers. Only now does Hux start to move, taking a step back and bracing himself to turn away. “I –,”

“Quiet,” Ren intones. “This will be much easier for the both of us if you’re quiet.”  

Hux knows only one instant of paralysis before the world around him disappears. Whatever Ren is doing hits him with all the force of a blow to the head, a painful kaleidoscope of sights, sounds, and sensations suddenly rising to the surface of his thoughts.

They’re memories, all mismatched and overlapping. His earliest: the infinite void of space seen through a viewport, the pinpricks of distant stars, accompanied by the vague, incoherent sound of his mother’s voice, the only memory he has of her. The rattling hum of the vent over his cot as it filled the room with oxygen, that rusty little grate keeping him alive until life support systems began to fail, as they inevitably would. The dreadful tedium of thirty-four years’ worth of life on a space station, blueprints so familiar he could redraw them in his sleep, until a fatal flaw in the oxygen reclamation system presented itself. The _Finalizer_ hurtling from the sky – the grim, awful certainty of impending impact, followed by the uncertainty of how to proceed when death was avoided. He was among the highest-ranking individuals left alive after landing; he’d taken control with almost laughable ease. Phasma stripping from her uniform in preparation for her trek up to the Mountain. The Mountain itself, by far the most strategically savvy point in the area, a hidden fortress overlooking miles and miles of grounder-controlled forest. A stronghold that Hux would take for his own –

After a moment or an eternity, it all fades away. Hux finds himself on his knees once more, hands clutching blindly at the floor below him, as though he’d seized at the jagged stones in a fit of panic. He swallows, throat suddenly raw, and wonders if he’s just suffered a touch of some madness.

When Hux looks up, he finds Kylo Ren standing before him, holding out his hand as though to help Hux to his feet.

“You’re alright now, General,” Ren says calmly, still offering his hand. “Get up.”

Hux, head swimming and vision blurry, has little choice but to put his hand in Ren’s and allow himself to be tugged upright. _How curious_ , Hux thinks dazedly, looking at his own pale, thin hand held tight in the grip of Ren’s large, leather-clad one. _A touch of madness, indeed._

Hux is half-convinced that he’s going to pass out or vomit at any given moment – or perhaps both, if he’s especially unlucky – but he remains uncommonly calm as he allows Ren to lead him from the hall, too discombobulated to fight back. They step out into a narrow corridor, and after several disorienting turns, Hux follows Ren into a different chamber – smaller than the first, but no less grand. Perhaps even more so in comparison, as it seems to be somebody’s private quarters. Hux’s vision is still too blurry for him to gather many details, but it’s sparsely decorated yet somehow theatrical in tone, with odd black furniture and draping red curtains.

“You need to lie down,” Ren says, and if it weren’t for the condescending lilt to his tone, Hux might find his deep voice soothing. Still, he finds himself unable to truly be angry, even though he ought to be. Perhaps his brains have been well and truly scrambled. “The effects of the probe will wear off soon.”

“The effects of the probe?” Hux repeats somewhat stupidly, squinting down at the chair that Ren seems to be offering to him. It’s some sort of lounge chair and it looks – incredibly inviting. Hux has never seen such a thing, let alone sat upon one; all of the furniture on the _Finalizer_ was utilitarian to the point of ugliness. Something in him is sounding the alarm at the mere idea of being so vulnerable in front of this bizarre grounder knight, and yet – he’s already going down willingly, his head spinning at the motion.

Ren sounds smug, or perhaps amused again. “Yes,” he says. “The more there is to look through, the harder it is to recover from. You have much hidden away.”

“Fucking hell,” Hux mutters, annoyed, and closes his eyes til the spinning stops.

* * *

Hux wakes an indeterminate amount of time later, hardly believing that he’d actually dozed off; he certainly hadn’t meant to. The nap must’ve been beneficial, though, because his head finally feels as though it’s screwed on properly again. Now that he can see clearly once more, Hux finds the room to be larger than he’d taken it for, and less comfortably decorated than he’d assumed based on Ren’s status. There’s the lounge chair, a pallet, a small hearth, and some kind of ceremonial-looking black rug. Hux spots Ren himself after a second or two – his clothes blend in with the darkness of every other surface in the room. He’s sitting at a table several feet away, close to the windows, and his back is to Hux. He’s taken his mask off, but it’s certainly Ren, because he’s wearing the same heavy black robes. His hair, thick and dark, falls to his shoulders. The heavy evening sunlight filtering through the thin curtains makes it gleam almost invitingly.

Ren, as if sensing this scrutiny, rises abruptly. He turns, presenting Hux with the first look at his bare face – he’s certainly not unappealing, although his features are bisected by a rather curious scar. Somehow, that scar alone makes him look more dangerous than any amount of his earlier posturing with the mask and the other knights ever could. And yet, Hux thinks, it also makes him look more human; it’s proof that underneath that mask, he is still a man, capable of being wounded. Capable of being killed, even.

Ren approaches, bearing a slightly dented metal goblet. “Here,” he says, offering it to Hux. “Some wine, to help you recover.”

“I feel fine now, thank you,” Hux says stiffly, wishing he’d scrambled to his feet before Ren got close. Doing so now would seem cowardly.

Ren rolls his eyes. The gesture is so human, so _childish_ , that it takes Hux by surprise. “It isn’t poisoned,” he says. “You’ve been sleeping in the same room as me; do you think I wouldn’t have slit your throat already, if I wanted you dead?”

Ren has a point, but still. Hux doesn’t trust Lord Ren as far as he could throw him, which certainly wouldn’t be far at all, given Ren’s powerful build. “You’ve already drugged me once,” Hux points out icily. “Twice, actually, if you count whatever the hell happened to me earlier.”

“I didn’t drug you, my knights did,” Ren says. He shakes the goblet at Hux insistently; a bit of wine slops over the side, staining Ren’s glove. He seems not to notice. “They are not as gifted at mental manipulation as I am, so count yourself fortunate. You might have been damaged, otherwise.”

“ _Mental manipulation_ ,” Hux repeats disdainfully, taking the cup from Ren lest he throw the wine in Hux’s face next. “So, what? That was some sort of – mind trick?”

Ren watches him expectantly, brow still furrowed, and Hux sighs before taking a tiny sip of the wine. It slides down into his empty stomach and he instantly feels warmed by it, the last dregs of lethargy in his system already beginning to dissipate. Ren, apparently satisfied by this, says, “Yes, but don’t call it that. It requires years of training in the ways of the Force to perform such an act with any success.”

 _Don’t tell me what to do_ , Hux wants to say, but that would be childish. “You did _that_ – with the Force?” he clarifies, raising his eyebrows up at Ren. Well, that certainly would explain the complete and utter bizarreness of what had overtaken him, but – Hux is not given to this sort of fanciful behavior.

“Yes,” Ren says, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards briefly, as though he very badly wants to laugh.

“I don’t believe you,” Hux says flatly.

“Don’t you?” Ren mocks, allowing a full-fledged smirk to cross his face before he turns away, moving back towards the table. “There is food here, if you want it.”

Hux stands, gripping the chair for balance, but it’s unnecessary – he truly does feel much better now. He approaches the table with caution, and notes that Ren clearly expects him to eat; there are two plates of food, and only one has been touched already. There’s some kind of fresh bread, as well as a helping of hearty-looking stew. Hux is suddenly aware of having last eaten that morning, when he’d scarfed down a flavorless ration bar before leaving camp. Food is still quite scarce among his people; the adjustment to life planetside has been anything but easy. Of course, the grounders, after a century of post-apocalyptic life, have learned how to live off the land.

Ren sits down, and Hux follows suit, sitting down opposite him. This chair, he notes, does not match either Ren’s or the table itself, which are similar in construction. The table must have been set for only one occupant until Ren went to fetch another chair.

“You’re an observant man,” Ren comments, idly running a finger around the rim of his own goblet.

Hux has the uncomfortable feeling that his thoughts are being listened to, though of course that’s rubbish. “One must be, to survive on this planet,” is all he says, reaching out to gingerly pick at the bread. It’s delicious, of course, but then, anything would be after not having eaten all day, and after suffering through – _whatever_ Ren did to him. Hux loathes this entire situation, but he’s not fool enough to turn down such a good meal, especially when he’s not guaranteed another one like it any time soon. Living on a space station, he’d survived off of rations, the same as everyone else; something fresh, flavored, would’ve been impossible. Therefore, Hux eats.

“I saw it all in your head,” Ren says, still toying with his food like an overgrown child. He seems fascinated by Hux, which is quite irritating. “The food, the people. The coldness of everyday life, drifting amongst the stars.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Hux says, feeling oddly defensive. What could this ridiculous stranger possibly know about where he’s come from? Even if he has poked around in Hux’s brain using some ancient, supposedly dead form of magic – he couldn’t know _everything_. “There weren’t any rabid animals, for one. And people generally didn’t run around stabbing each other. It was _civilized_.”

“And you like that,” Ren says, dark eyes fixed on Hux’s. “Being civilized.”

“I prefer it, yes,” Hux snaps, setting down his rough-hewn metal fork. “Why the devil am I still here, Lord Ren? If we aren’t going to discuss strategy, then let me go or go ahead and kill me. It’s as simple as that.”

“What strategy is there to discuss?” Ren says, frowning. “I’ve already conferred with my master. He approves of this plan. My knights will summon our warriors, and we can march on the Mountain as early as the morning. Your men have just been sent away with the same information.”

“. . . Your master?” Hux inquires, startled enough by this to forget his concerns about Ren’s lack of desire to plan. He’d assumed Ren was the man in charge here – of this clan, at least. He’s not entirely sure how many clans there are, only that this one is large and deadly, populated heavily with warriors.

“Supreme Leader Snoke,” Ren says, nearly preening at the opportunity to explain something. “He trains me in the ways of the Dark Side.”

“The Dark Side,” Hux repeats.

“. . . Of the Force,” Ren supplies, mistaking Hux’s unimpressed reaction for one of confusion.  

“Yes, I figured that bit out for myself, thank you,” Hux snaps. “I just – who is this Supreme Leader?”

“The leader of all twelve clans,” Ren says simply. “And a powerful Force user.”

Hux huffs quietly and picks up his fork again. “Right,” he mutters, after another bite of food. It really is quite good. “So are all of your people Force users? Is it a side effect of the radiation?”

Ren looks at Hux as though he’s abruptly sprouted a second head. “No,” he snaps. “The Force is a gift.”

“Right,” Hux says again, and Ren glowers.

“It’s a rare power,” Ren says. “It runs in my family. My grandfather –,”

“—ah yes, _Darth Vader_ ,” Hux interjects, purely out of spite.

“—was a powerful Sith lord,” Ren finishes darkly. His fingers are gripping the stem of his goblet now, although just how tightly Hux cannot discern, thanks to his glove. “You would do well to respect that name, Hux.”

“It’s difficult to respect a name that I’ve never heard before, Lord Ren,” Hux returns. “Owing to the fact that, you know, my people thought this planet was a completely uninhabited wasteland in the grips of nuclear winter.”

Ren takes a slow sip from his cup. “Well,” he says, after a moment, “they thought wrong, didn’t they. Or at least mostly wrong.”

Hux is admittedly a bit thrown by the mercurial nature of this conversation. One moment Ren is calm, but it seems all too easy for Hux to goad him into becoming angry. Through it all, he studies Hux with those large, dark eyes, as if utterly fascinated. It’s disconcerting to be watched this closely, and yet – bizarrely heady, to be the subject of such intense scrutiny from a strange, powerful man. The very thought, although it is his own, annoys Hux with its ridiculousness; he resolves not to have any more wine. He will not let this meandering discussion turn out to be a total waste. What he ought to do is find out more about these people, particularly this man Snoke. Such information could prove incredibly useful after this whole business with the Mountain is through. Hux would not be opposed to an alliance with Ren’s clan – it would certainly prove advantageous, with the sheer number of soldiers they could provide – but he has low expectations of such a relationship lasting very long.

“So,” Hux says, setting down his fork once more. Ren seems to have abandoned his own food, although by the looks of it he’d eaten well enough while Hux was asleep. “Your master, is he here in this village? I’d like to meet him.”

Ren cocks his head. “No,” he says. “The Supreme Leader does not live amongst us.”

“Very well,” Hux says. “Then where does he live?”

“Far away,” Ren says, with a knowing smile. He’s aware of what Hux is after, then, and is purposefully withholding information. Smug bastard.

“Far away, really,” Hux says dryly. “You don’t have to play coy, Lord Ren. I’m only trying to – what was it you said earlier? ‘Understand you, before we proceed?’”

“That was different,” Ren says. “I needed to make sure we could trust you – and your people – to hold up your end of this deal.”

“Is that so,” Hux challenges. If Ren wants to play cat and mouse, that’s fine – Hux can give as good as he gets. “Are you sure it wasn’t a matter of personal curiosity?”

Ren half-smiles. It twists his scar slightly, but it also makes him look a great deal younger than – however old he actually is. His late twenties, in Hux’s estimation. “There was some of that, yes,” he admits, before rising from his chair abruptly. Hux flinches ever so slightly – not out of real fear, just surprise. He feels like he’s in a room with a tamed beast, tensing at every one of its sudden movements. He ought to be able to trust Ren to behave himself, and yet he doesn’t, not fully.

Ren moves towards the open windows, his long black cloak fluttering slightly as he moves. When Hux does not follow, Ren turns slightly to look at him. “You are not being held here,” he says, a vague challenge in his expression. “Leave, if you desire it.”

They both know he can’t, not if he wants to see these plans through, and more importantly – he won’t, out of both pride and political necessity. He wants as much information as he can get, and it wouldn’t do to offend such an ill-tempered individual. Hux abandons the table as well and walks, as leisurely as he can manage, to the same window that Ren stands before. There are three of them, wide and tall, the frame of each reaching far above their heads; Ren has chosen to stand at the center one, and Hux stands somewhat reluctantly beside him.

They’re higher up than Hux would’ve thought they were. He’d assumed that most grounders lived in huts, and a glance at the sprawling village below tells him he’d assumed correctly. However, Ren’s domain must be in keeping with his position, as it is a large, stone building. Hux distantly wonders if he’s compensating for something, then quickly dismisses the thought. He still isn’t fully convinced that Ren can actually read minds, but – perhaps it’s best to err on the side of caution, for now.

“So, Lord Ren,” Hux drawls, looking out at the territory. Most of the immediate view is obstructed by trees, but Hux can see the Mountain in the distance, beautiful and imposing. “How is it that you came by all this? By birth or by force? Pardon the expression.”

Ren snorts, an awkward noise that nevertheless fills Hux with a very fleeting, very strange sense of validation. “Both,” he says. “My mother was a princess of this clan, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Was?”

“A ruler cannot rule without a kingdom,” Ren says cryptically. Hux, politely, does not say what he’s thinking, which is _no shit._ “I don’t know where my mother is. She – and many others – fled to the Dead Zone when the Supreme Leader rose to power.”

Judging by the way Ren is clenching his jaw, Hux has unwittingly touched a nerve with this line of conversation. Best to tread cautiously now, but remember that this soft spot exists, just in case leverage is needed down the line. “The Dead Zone?” he inquires. “The aforementioned uninhabited wasteland, I presume.”

Ren gestures vaguely out the window, as though indicating extreme distance. “Nothing out there but the occasional scavenger,” he says darkly. “Supposedly the last Jedi hides himself there, as well. Luke Skywalker.”

Hux debates whether or not to press further. Ren doesn’t have to answer if he doesn’t want to, of course; he holds all the power here. He could strike Hux down for asking too many questions whenever he wants. Still, Hux has the nagging feeling he’s pushing his luck with his current line of inquiry.

Before Hux has a chance to come to a decision, Ren makes it for him. “He’s the last one because I killed all the rest.”

Hux wonders if he’s supposed to be frightened by this; Ren looks almost as though he hopes Hux will be impressed. There’s some strange yearning in his face, a wild, dark thing that Hux doesn’t know how to interpret. Hux falls upon his old standby: irritation. “Get out of my head.”

Whatever strange mood that has seized Ren seems to pass, but he maintains eye contact with Hux. “I enjoy being inside your head,” he says. “You interest me.”

“I’m flattered,” Hux says dryly, “but I value my privacy. Which you have already invaded, quite spectacularly.”

“I’ve never met anyone like you before,” Ren says, caught halfway between earnestness and petulance. Briefly, Hux marvels that a person like this has managed to survive this long, let alone rise to such an esteemed position; Ren strikes him as a boy within a man’s body, all clumsy overtures and simmering angst.

“There aren’t many people like me,” Hux says, truthfully. “None, I suspect.”

“Would you like to know what I suspect?” Ren asks, quite seriously. He hasn’t moved, but he doesn’t need to; they are standing close enough to peer out the same window. An evening breeze drifts in, and Hux suppresses a shiver, refusing to break eye contact.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway, Lord Ren.”

“I think,” Ren says, ignoring Hux’s sarcasm, “that power interests you, and I have a great deal of that. I think that _I_ interest you perhaps even more than you do me.”

“I’m sure you’ve been spying in my head, but I’m afraid I don’t know what could’ve possibly given you that impression,” Hux sneers.

“Nothing, really,” Ren muses. “But then I wondered – why are you still here, Hux, if not to satisfy a matter of your own personal curiosity?”

Ren is smirking again, because he’s undoubtedly realized something much as Hux just has: there is no suitable answer for that.

Falling into bed with Ren is completely accidental on Hux’s part, but he could _kick_ himself for not having seen it coming. Ren’s practically been fawning over him for the entirety of their time together – admittedly not a very lengthy period – and Hux has simply been too blind to see it for what it is. A silly attraction, a fool’s fascination with the unknown, but nevertheless something to take full advantage of. If Ren is so starved for company as to lust after a man whom he barely knows, especially one who wouldn’t hesitate to betray him, then so be it. Hux is willing to be had as part of the long game, although it does help that Ren is decently handsome and – rather solidly built.

The literal falling into bed part is entirely Hux’s doing. In fact, it is he who makes the official first move, grabbing Ren by the cowl and dragging him in for a slightly wine-flavored kiss. This part seems to have been inevitable, but Hux wants to get out in front of the situation, so to speak. Ren seems surprised, but he complies, messily returning Hux’s kiss. Hux allows himself to be crowded against the windowsill, the open air at his upper back a disconcerting yet exhilarating contrast to Ren’s bulk pressing against him. He could topple to his death right now – though falling hasn’t managed to kill him yet.

They kiss for much longer than Hux would’ve expected; Ren doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing, but it becomes more tolerable as he gradually gains confidence. After a while, it’s even pleasant. When Ren’s mouth leaves his own in favor of his neck, Hux tips his head back and lets out a hum of encouragement, which seems to please Ren. He bites Hux, suddenly and sharply, and Hux gasps before he can help himself.

“Careful, Ren,” he says, trying to imbue the rebuke with as much distaste as possible.

“You liked it,” Ren taunts, his large hands shifting from their chaste positions on the windowsill to clench at his waist. An intimidation tactic, although it only serves to make Hux angry and – more irritatingly – aroused. “I felt it.”

“Be that as it may,” Hux snaps, “leave a mark on me and you’ll live to regret it.”

“I look forward to it,” Ren retorts, and Hux kisses him again before Ren can embarrass himself with any further commentary.

Hux had been right in his earlier estimations of Ren as a beast, because it doesn’t take long after the biting incident for Ren to start grinding against him, shoving Hux almost painfully against the window frame in the process. Somewhat shamefully, Hux finds himself reciprocating the motion, even as he cringes away from the jutting stone behind him. Fortunately, he’s already occupied with nibbling at Ren’s earlobe, so he’s in the perfect position to politely suggest, “Take me to bed before you knock me out the bloody window.”

“Yes,” Ren agrees, a bit dumbly, and Hux discovers with some annoyance that he is charmed by this. Charmed enough, in fact, to allow Ren to drag him bodily towards the pallet and unceremoniously pull him down onto it.

“That _hurt_ ,” Hux snaps, after landing halfway on top of Ren and only narrowly avoiding butting heads with him. “You really are a brute, you know that?”

“Again,” Ren says, “you liked it.”

“You’re also an overgrown brat,” Hux says. Apparently, having had Ren’s tongue in his mouth has significantly reduced Hux’s ability to refrain from insulting him. Curious.

Ren growls, a ridiculous noise which really shouldn’t send a bolt of desire through Hux but certainly does anyway. He flips them over roughly, although this time Hux’s impact is cushioned by the fur covering Ren’s bed rather than by Ren himself. “Be quiet,” Ren says eloquently, shoving a broad thigh between Hux’s much narrower ones.

“What a clever comeback,” Hux says, even as his breathing stutters at the surprisingly careful press of Ren’s muscular thigh. “I do hope your skills in battle are more developed than your wit, Lord Ren.”

This time Ren doesn’t bother with a response, instead focusing on grappling with the buttons of Hux’s shirt, which was once part of his work uniform onboard the _Finalizer_. An engineer’s tunic, back when he was an engineer and not the leader of some ramshackle survival effort. Ren’s completion of the task is impeded slightly because he still hasn’t removed his gloves, although Hux vaguely wishes he would. “Don’t tear it,” Hux manages, grinding against Ren’s thigh as discreetly as he can. “It’s the only one I have.”

Ren hesitates, his gaze catching briefly on Hux’s, before he resumes unbuttoning Hux’s shirt with slightly more care than before. Hux obligingly shimmies out of the shirt, then his white undershirt – which is actually spotted with a bit of blood, origins unknown. If Ren notices, he says nothing, perhaps because he’s already latched his mouth onto one of Hux’s prominent collarbones. Hux luxuriates in the attention even as he tugs irritably at Ren’s heavy robes.

“Turnabout is fair play where I come from,” Hux gripes, and Ren rolls his eyes but proceeds to shed several layers – including his gloves – until he’s finally as bare as Hux is. For a while after that, there’s no talking, only more kissing and more ridiculous rutting against each other, which Hux takes too much enjoyment in for his own comfort.

After a few minutes of this, Ren tears himself away ever so slightly, just enough to get his hands on Hux’s hips and hold him still. “May I?” Ren says, voice hoarse and deep. “Will you let me?”

Ren seems like the sort of man who isn’t accustomed to asking for permission; Hux is rather thankful for it now, although he’s fairly certain they’re already on the same page. Still, he keeps Ren waiting for a moment, just to see the look on his face. “You may,” Hux allows, and Ren moans – actually _moans_ – and kisses him again. He fumbles with the fastenings of Hux’s trousers, and Hux remembers to squirm and kick his way out of his boots in the nick of time. He doesn’t know _why_ he’s allowing Ren to fully undress him, especially when Ren likely won’t follow suit, but he can’t very well demand to put his clothes back on.

“You haven’t got any diseases, have you?” Hux asks, as he wriggles free of his pants. Stars forbid they’ve developed terrifying new venereal diseases in the century since humanity’s downfall.  

Ren’s gaze meets Hux’s again. “No,” he says bluntly. “I don’t.”  

“Very well. We’ll need something for lubricant,” Hux prompts, as Ren runs his large hands down Hux’s thighs. The touch is incongruously gentle – or perhaps Ren is trying to tease him. Either way, he’s got nice hands: large, strong, and calloused.

Ren lifts one hand and extends his arm – Hux watches, nonplussed, until something shoots out of an abandoned rucksack across the room and lands neatly in Ren’s waiting palm. It looks to be a vial – the glass is green and nearly opaque, but Hux presumes there’s some kind of oil inside of it. “What the hell?” Hux says, fighting back a delirious laugh.

“Will this do?” Ren says.

“How should I know? I’ve never been penetrated at this altitude.”

“It will do,” Ren decides, leaning in to kiss Hux again. Apparently, Ren likes kissing.

Hux obliges him for a moment longer, then breaks the contact to nudge Ren off of him and turn over onto his front, propping himself up on his elbows and knees. Ren, perversely, seems to hesitate. “Go on,” Hux says, looking over his shoulder at Ren. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

This, at last, spurs Ren into action. He moves in close again, mouthing at the side of Hux’s neck while he fumbles with the vial in his hands. Hux turns his gaze to the opposite wall, threading his fingers loosely through the fur of the blanket beneath him. It’s easier this way, naturally, less intimate than before – although, there are still few acts more intimate than having Ren slowly work three fingers into him, biting at his neck and shoulder all the while.

“That’s enough, Ren,” Hux huffs, after several minutes of this treatment. Ren twists his fingers one last time, making Hux twitch in pleasure against his will, and then withdraws his fingers, only to kneel behind Hux and immediately replace his fingers with his dick.

Hux fights his body’s natural urge to tense, as he knows that doing so will cause nothing but more unpleasantness. He _has_ done this before, but it’s been a while and Ren is – of a size. Ren seems to notice Hux’s discomfort, or perhaps he senses it with the bloody _Force_ , because he takes his time. Then, once he’s fully seated, he stops moving altogether, allowing Hux a chance to breathe. Hux refuses to be grateful for it, especially when Ren has the nerve to start _petting_ him, like a skittish animal in need of soothing.

“You fell from the sky,” Ren says almost reverently, long fingers tracing a path down Hux’s spine. “There are stories about people like you. Angels.”

“Oh, _kriff off_ ,” Hux says, resenting both the ridiculous comparison and Ren’s mawkishness.

Ren shifts his weight slightly, and Hux sucks in an involuntary gulp of air. “What does that mean?” he asks, miffed.

Hux wishes Ren would go ahead and _move_ already, but he’s not about to say such a thing out loud. “I think you know, Lord Ren.”

Ren’s hands move to Hux’s hips, grip suddenly vicious, and he leans down to murmur into Hux’s ear, “It does not do to insult me, General Hux.”

Ren doesn’t give Hux the chance to spit out a retort before he draws back and then snaps his hips forward – then again and again. Ren doesn’t slow his frantic pace once he’s set it, which is fortunate, because Hux might have thoroughly embarrassed himself if he had. It’s bad enough that he’s got one of his fists pressed to his mouth to hold back any errant noises that might escape.

Ren notices this fairly quickly, and he leans in again, this time to trace his tongue messily along the shell of Hux’s ear. Hux shudders, but not _entirely_ from distaste. “Let me hear you,” Ren orders, voice rough.

Hux starts to refuse, but Ren moves faster, _harder_ , and Hux lets his hand fall away from his mouth just as a ragged gasp escapes him. Ren moans, perhaps in sympathy or perhaps in triumph, and Hux tries very hard to loathe him again but finds he doesn’t have the focus required for it at the moment.

For all his efforts to avoid intimacy, the position they’re in now affords quite a bit of it: Ren is completely plastered to Hux’s back, sweat practically gluing them together. Hux can’t bring himself to demand a change of position, not when this closeness allows Ren to kiss his neck, to reach a fumbling hand around and stroke him, to murmur in his ear. Briefly, Hux thinks Ren might be having some kind of stroke, because he seems to be spouting absolute gibberish. Then he realizes Ren has slipped into his native tongue, the guttural syllables punctuated by panting breaths and grunts of pleasure.

The sound of Ren’s voice, the desperation and _want_ there, is what sends Hux over the edge. The strength of his orgasm takes Hux a bit by surprise; he hadn’t expected to enjoy this as anything more than a release of tension. As it turns out, a month’s worth of fighting for his life – plus the frankly incalculable amount of time elapsed since his last decent orgasm – results in something a bit more powerful than a simple release of tension. “Fuck,” Hux says, somewhat helplessly, and then, “fuck, kriffing _fuck_.”

This sets Ren off almost immediately; he buries his hoarse cry into Hux’s neck, and Hux is too pleasure-drunk to complain about Ren nearly shouting in his ear. They remain there for a few moments, lost in the afterglow, before Hux begins to find Ren’s weight and overall stickiness bothersome. “You haven’t fallen asleep on top of me, have you?” Hux asks, shivering as Ren’s slowing breaths tickle the side of his neck.

“No,” Ren grunts, sounding almost offended by the suggestion. He pulls out slowly and then, confusingly, nudges Hux forward, toward the opposite side of his bed.

“Alright, alright,” Hux snaps, giving Ren a nasty look over his shoulder. Ren’s clearly gotten what he wanted from the beginning, but Hux won’t be manhandled into leaving in a hurry. He’ll go, certainly, but he’ll do it with as much dignity as he can while covered in come and bite marks.

“No,” Ren says again, with only slightly more elegance than before. He moves to lounge on his side, unashamedly naked – not that he has any particular reason to be ashamed. “I didn’t – I am not trying to make you leave.”

Hux frowns at Ren from across the bed. “Then what are you trying to do?”

Ren gives the space next to him a pat. It’s an oddly endearing gesture from such a big, bumbling person. Hux shakes away that thought quickly, still paranoid about Ren’s ability to hear such things. “Lie with me,” Ren says. It’s not phrased like a request, but Hux gets the feeling that Ren won’t stop him if he decides to get dressed and leave.

And yet, Hux is faced with the same problem as before; he still has nowhere to go in this village that isn’t entirely conditional upon Ren’s hospitality. That can be the only explanation for why he scoots slowly towards Ren and lowers himself to lie stiffly on his back beside him. “Alright,” Hux says begrudgingly, “but only because you’re warm.”

Surprise flits across Ren’s face for the briefest of moments, but is quickly eradicated. Ren lazily waves a hand. His heavy cloak lifts itself from the floor and floats over like some kind of low-hanging black cloud before gently dropping to rest on top of them like a blanket. The garment isn’t large enough to cover two grown men fully, but it’ll do. “You’re so thin,” Ren muses, his hand coming to rest over Hux’s ribs. “You must be cold often.”

Hux frowns. He is, but it’s always felt too much like a weakness to admit to. “I am, I suppose,” he concedes.

“Winter will be brutal for you,” Ren says sagely.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hux bristles, taking this as some kind of veiled threat.

Ren makes that funny little half-smile again, and Hux isn’t sure whether he wants to smack it off Ren’s face or – something. “I hope to see your face during the first snowfall,” Ren says, amused. “It won’t be long now.”

Hux isn’t quite sure how to respond to this odd statement. It seems frightfully sentimental, and yet – Hux isn’t opposed to it. Continued contact with Ren could be useful, especially now that Hux can exploit this encounter for further leverage. Relations between their peoples will inevitably go south; surely Ren, gifted mind-reader that he apparently is, already knows that Hux intends to take the fortress inside the Mountain for his own. He has to have sensed that Hux has little concern for Ren’s people beyond whatever purpose they may serve for him.

And yet – if Ren is bothered by any of this, he hasn’t let on. This worries Hux. Either Ren is one step ahead or he’s a complete wild card – Hux honestly isn’t sure which is worse.

“You should rest,” Ren says, breaking the silence that falls when Hux doesn’t respond. He’s still almost holding Hux, one strong arm across Hux’s middle. “Tomorrow will be . . . difficult, if you don’t.”

Hux quirks an eyebrow at Ren. “Sleep here?” he clarifies. “With you?”

Ren gives him a curious look. “You let me bed you,” he says. “But you won’t share a bed with me?”

Hux can feel himself flushing under Ren’s scrutiny. When it’s all laid out like that, he does feel a bit ridiculous – having Ren literally inside of him and then balking at the idea of sleeping next to him. Hux wishes he could blame it on a continued distrust of Ren, but if Ren wanted to kill him after fucking him, he’s had several minutes to do it. And Ren _could_ do it, Hux reminds himself. Easily. He _must_ keep that in mind, no matter how friendly Ren decides to be.

Hux acquiesces, muttering, “Oh, alright.”

Ren seems to constantly oscillate between four emotions: amusement, smugness, lust, and anger. Smugness wins out this time, and he pulls Hux closer to his chest with the sort of easy strength that simultaneously annoys and excites Hux. “What are you doing?” Hux says, unwilling to let himself to be cuddled and yet making no move to stop it.

“Keeping you warm,” Ren says lazily. “What kind of host would I be otherwise?”

“The kind who drugs, kidnaps, and then seduces their guest,” Hux says, shifting onto his side so that his back is to Ren’s chest. If Ren insists on this closeness, Hux will allow it, but that doesn’t mean he has to gaze soulfully into Ren’s big brown eyes while he does it.

“I told you before,” Ren says. “I didn’t drug you.”

“So you agree that you kidnapped me.”

Ren huffs. “Only briefly. I would have let you leave once I probed you.”

Hux grimaces. “Do me a favor and stop using the word ‘probe.’ It’s taken on an unfortunate connotation.”

Ren laughs, a deep, husky noise that makes Hux shiver. Ren seems to notice this, and wraps his arms even more tightly around Hux, perhaps believing him to be cold. In reality, he’s anything but. He might even let Ren fuck him again, assuming Ren is amenable. He’s already going to be sore and filthy tomorrow anyway. Frankly, he’s gotten used to it; he’s spent the better part of the last month bruised and covered in dirt. Bathing in streams or with collected rainwater has become a treat, and Hux indulges himself with a brief, longing thought of a sonic shower. The broken carcass of the _Finalizer_ can no longer efficiently support it, but Hux can think of nothing better to beat the filth off of himself.

“We don’t have those,” Ren murmurs, drawing Hux’s attention. “But I have a bathtub.”

“Read my mind again and I’ll reconsider this entire operation,” Hux mutters, though he can’t help but ignore a pulse of longing for the aforementioned bathtub.

“I can’t help it,” Ren says. “You think very loudly.”

“Is that some kind of compliment?”

“No. But I don’t mind it.”

“Well, as long as it suits you, Lord Ren,” Hux says irritably, and Ren gives him a gentle squeeze, although Hux can’t tell if it’s meant in reproach or as some strange show of affection. This entire situation becomes a bit mind-boggling if Hux dwells on it for very long.

“Rest,” Ren orders. “I’ll have a bath drawn up.”

Ren makes no move to get up, so Hux assumes he means he’ll have it drawn up in the morning. Hux falls silent for a few minutes, trying to think quietly, if that’s even possible. When he decides that it’s not, he finally asks, “What will happen tomorrow?”

“We will rise early – before dawn,” Ren says. “I will join my knights. Then we will march on the Mountain and begin the slaughter.”

“That’s very – simplistic,” Hux says. “And your lack of forethought is a bit disturbing.”

“Are you _ever_ quiet?” Ren asks.

“Apparently I even think loudly, so I suppose not.”

Ren mutters something in the grounder language, which Hux takes for an insult. However, he’s not sure he could disengage himself from Ren at this point even if he wanted to – the man _clings_. It becomes less and less unpleasant over time as Ren’s warmth leeches into Hux and the weight of his limbs becomes familiar. Hux’s own limbs have grown heavy, but he refuses to close his eyes; he’ll have to sleep at some point, but he’d rather Ren nodded off first. He isn’t sure he could look anyone in the eyes tomorrow knowing he’d fallen asleep in Ren’s arms.

Ren hums something else in his native tongue, then intones, “ _Rest_. Your pride will go untarnished. I sense great things will come of our partnership.”

It takes Hux a moment to process this. The word _partnership_ unsettles him slightly; it implies intimacy between himself and Ren rather than just a military alliance between their peoples. But Hux is too tired to argue any more, so he asks, “What sort of great things?”

“Victory,” Ren murmurs back. “And great destruction.”

Hux is amenable to both of those things, although Ren’s initial pronouncement had led him to believe that Ren was speaking of something more long-term. Perhaps he is – it’s impossible to tell with a man like Ren.

They’ll start with great destruction, then, in the morning. Victory will simply have to follow suit.


End file.
